“And?”
“Let’s see. The press won’t leave me alone. They call my office and my house at all hours. My email overflows, and one even tried to pose as a new client. I could handle that, but now my clients are being harassed by the press, which is a horrible invasion of their privacy, not to mention embarrassing for them and the clinic I work for. The speculation in the tabloids about our marriage makes me look like some kind of psychotic harpy, which tends to make people think twice about listening to my advice.” She was pacing again, working that head of steam back up. “Oh, and there’s the little issue of being placed on extended leave because all of this interferes with the entire clinic’s ability to do business. So, thank you, Devin, for screwing up my life. Again.”
That accusation rankled, but he wasn’t going to argue who had screwed up whose life in the first place. He’d win that battle. But that was ancient history. He did feel slightly bad Megan was catching flak—and that he’d been unaware of any of it. Regardless of his reputation, he wasn’t completely heartless. Even when it came to her. “I didn’t know. I’ll try to do some damage control, if you want. Make it clear that we were so long ago that nothing of us is part of the book.”
Her shoulders dropped. “It’s a start. But I doubt it will help.”
Old frustration edged its way back in. “Then exactly what do you want me to do?”
* * *
The question hung between them in the dim stockroom, and Megan didn’t have an answer.
Anger and indignation had brought her this far and now she regretted giving in to either emotion. So much for “positive confrontation.” All those “I” statements—I think, I feel—she was supposed to use in this situation had evaporated under the heat of her emotions. Good God, if Dr. Weiss had heard that outburst … She cringed inwardly. She’d be sent back to Psych 101 to start over again. The outrage drained away, leaving her feeling hollow and foolish.
It was a familiar feeling. One she didn’t like.
She just hadn’t been properly mentally prepared to see Devin again. Face-to-face, at least. She’d debated taking this internship simply because Devin was so famous, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to be in the same town. But an internship at the Weiss Clinic was too prestigious to turn down over an ex-husband. Not in a town this size, where she was practically guaranteed to never run into him.
Then she’d moved here and his picture was all over town: on the sides of buses, on billboards, in magazines. Devin’s I’m-up-to-something smile was everywhere. It was wreaking havoc on her psyche, but she’d learned how to ignore it—for the most part.
But all that practice hadn’t prepared her to be in the same room with him. Alone. His long, lean body took up way too much space, and her nerve endings seemed to jump to high alert. Devin appeared to suck up all the available oxygen in the room, leaving her with nothing to breathe except the unique scent of him that she—and something inside her—recognized immediately. Those liquid brown eyes, the way his dark hair curled just slightly behind his ears … Those hands—oddly elegant for a man who oozed testosterone from every pore—brought visuals she didn’t need right now.
It was terribly unfair to discover that after all these years Devin still had an effect on her—especially when she obviously had no effect on him at all. Her inner eighteen-year-old was stuttering and stammering just being this close to him, and it irritated her to no end.
And now she’d stormed in here and acted exactly like some kind of crazy ex. And considering how reasonable he was being … She wanted to go hide under a rock for the next five years or so. She might recover her pride and get over the embarrassment by then.
Devin repeated the question, and the exasperation in his tone drove home how ridiculous she was being.
I should have listened to Julie.
“Well, Meggie?”
You could start by not calling me Meggie. It caused another one of those heartbeat stutters and brought back memories she was doing her damnedest to suppress. But the question did deflate the last bit of the outrage that had sent her storming downtown to confront him. She sighed and dropped her shoulders in defeat. “I don’t know. I guess that’s all you can do. Eventually my fifteen minutes will be up, right?”
Biting her lip, she reached deep inside for a bit of the professional behavior she’d lost in her tirade. Without the anger and indignation fueling her, she felt foolish. And Dev’s proximity was just too much. “I apologize. I shouldn’t have come here in the first place, so I’ll go now.” A small laugh at the absurdity of the situation escaped her. “I won’t say it was nice seeing you again, but at least I can offer you my congratulations on your success in person.” There. She could end on a less embarrassing and slightly more mature note.
Dev nodded, but he had the oddest look on his face—rather as if he was concerned she wasn’t all there mentally. She couldn’t really blame him for that. “Bye, Dev. And good luck.” She held out her hand.
Seeming surprised and not bothering to hide it, Devin took her offered hand. Damn it. His touch caused her fingers to tingle, and it took all she had not to jerk her hand away.
“You, too, Meggie.”
Pulling herself together by force of will, she released his hand and refused to look back as she walked away. She pushed the door with a little too much force, causing it to swing wide. That annoying agent jumped back to avoid being hit.
“Eavesdropping? Really? Lovely.”
Manny had the sense to look a little abashed at being caught, but then he shrugged and grinned. It was a fake, practiced grin, and she wasn’t the least bit fooled by it. Or by the false friendliness that followed. “You know, you really shouldn’t take any of this personally. It’s just showbiz.”
She pretended to think about that statement. “Showbiz. Yeah. Well, for those of us who didn’t sign up for it, it sucks.”
Much like her life at the moment.
CHAPTER TWO
TWENTY-FOUR HOURS under the covers and more ice cream than any adult should ever eat hadn’t solved anything. Megan didn’t feel better about any of it. And now her stomach hurt, as well.
She was tired of hiding in her apartment, mainly because seeing Devin had awakened every old repressed memory, causing her to relive their entire history. She was a complete mess now, thanks to him.
When the phone rang, again, she flipped back the quilt to check the number. No name. Damn. Not answering wasn’t an option, since it could be a client calling. They all had her cell-phone number in case of an emergency. She mentally crossed her fingers, then immediately felt bad for hoping one of her clients was having an emergency.
“Dr. Lowe?”
“Speaking.”
“My name is Kate Wilson. I’m a producer—”
She sighed. “No comment. Goodbye.” The press was driving her crazy.
“Wait! Don’t hang up, please.” Something in the woman’s voice caused her to pause. “I’m Devin Kenney’s producer for Cover Your Assets.”
That’s why the voice sounded vaguely familiar. She’d heard it on the radio the once or twice she’d tuned in to Devin’s show—strictly for research purposes, of course. “And I still have no comment.”
It wasn’t for lack of trying, though. She’d spent hours trying to come up with the perfect comment. One that would be pithy and quotable yet shut down any further questions. Sadly, such a comment did not exist.
“I understand your reluctance, but please